Caged
by ShinigamiPhoenix
Summary: When one of the girls is kidnapped by mutant haters, she finds herself thrust into a vicious world of kill or be killed and has to fight for her very survival. Very bloody, very dark. COMPLETE
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters and I don't claim to. I am just borrowing them for a little bit and will return them to their rightful owners when I'm done. Don't sue, I don't have any money.

Warning: THIS FIC IS R-RATED FOR A DAMN GOOD REASON! IT CONTAINS EXPLICIT VIOLENCE, TORTURE AND RAPE! DO NOT CONTINUE IF YOU ARE UNDER SEVENTEEN OR HAVE A WEAK STOMACH! I will not be held accountable for any who choose to ignore this warning and continue to read. Flame me if you want, but I'll just laugh at it, and then you.

Notes: Extra big THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!! to my friend angyl-devyl, who read the prologue and pronounced it good. I wouldn't have posted this otherwise, so thanks ever so much. Now, everyone go and read her fics because she rocks. Enjoy and review!

Prologue

Her breath fogged in the air, icy raindrops splashing against her skin. Even through her outfit of heavy clothes, thick coat, gloves, and scarf, the cold slashed at her skin, biting and clawing, numbing her body. She hated the cold, it was such a miserable state of weather. She preferred the warm, sunny days, not overly bright or hot, just a mild warmth that lazily caressed her skin.

She sighed and ducked her head, clutching her books to her chest with her numb hands. She stared at her feet as she walked down the sidewalk, listening to the sharp sound of her boots hitting the pavement. She passed under a streetlamp, the yellow light offering no relief from the warmth, merely light to see by.

She stayed in the pool of light for a moment, looking around at her. The street was deserted, everybody was already tucked away in bed, perhaps snuggling with their loved one, or maybe just a teddy bear. Still, a wave of unease flooded her body, making her pulse race and her skin tingle. It wasn't fear, not quite, just wariness, uncertainty, anxiety.

She shook her head, telling herself that she was being ridiculous, and moved out of the light, stepping into the shadows of night once again. Even if she was attacked by a mugger, which was highly unlikely because nobody would be out in this cold unless they had no choice, then she was more than capable of dealing with them. She was being foolish and instead of wasting time thinking about all the bad things that weren't going to happen, she should just hurry home. There was a mug of cocoa, a hot shower, and a warm bed calling to her, and it would be rude to ignore the call, don't you think?

The attack came out of nowhere. Only her quick reflexes and extensive training in martial arts let her evade the first blow, dropping her books as she twisted to the right, turning around to face the attacker. Or rather, attackers. She couldn't see exactly how many there were, they were hidden by the shadows until their bodies meshed together into one solid shadow filled with the glinting of knives.

Raising her fists, she fell back into a defensive position and waited for them to come at her. It would be stupid to go for them, she would lose, but if she let them come at her, she had a better chance of survival.

Three rushed her at once, two holding knives, the other holding a baseball bat. She brushed the bat aside, ducking down to sweep the man's legs out from under him. He fell with a heavy thud, a groan spilling from his lips, but she ignored him, already back on her feet and fighting the next man. She jumped back to dodge the knife, delivering a sharp right hook, following it up with an uppercut, and then knee-capping him. He joined his friend on the ground, and she turned to face the other person.

He was faster than the other two, and his knife managed to make contact, slashing through the thick sleeve of her coat, sweater, and shirt, to slice at her skin. The pain was sharp and immediate, small needles of pain spreading from the injury. She felt a thick, warm liquid form and drip down her arm, warmer than normal because of her cold skin, but she paid it no attention. She raised an arm, brushing away the fist he'd raised, and executed a textbook snap-kick, her booted foot connecting with his jaw. He stumbled backwards, but didn't go down.

The other men, she assumed they were men but they might have been tall, broad-shouldered and muscular women, muttered various threats, insults, and curses, and rushed at her, weapons raised.

She tried to defend herself, her body moving fluidly despite the cold. She punched, kicked, dodged, danced, but in the end, all it took was one lucky hit to her face to stop her. The punch split open her eyebrow, warm blood dripping into her eye and blinding her, and for the split-second it took to wipe the blood away, three things happened at once: someone swept her feet out from under her, another stabbed her in the shoulder, and someone else pressed the cold barrel of a gun against her temple.

She stared up at them from the ground, not moving, but glaring with everything she had. She waited, her body tense, but the punches, the kicks, the pain, didn't come. Instead, they rolled her over onto her stomach, someone pressing down on her shoulders, including her injured one, to make sure she didn't move. Pain shot through her arm from the stab wound in her shoulder, but she didn't cry out, she wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

Cold steel, cold enough to make her body twitch, touched her wrists, she heard the snap and click of handcuffs. She frowned, wondering what was happening and knowing that it would not be good, and the last thing she saw before they beat her unconscious was a pair of baby blue eyes glaring at her from the mass of men, blue eyes filled with hate and triumph. She didn't hear his proud proclamations, didn't feel the men lift her effortlessly to throw her into the back of a van, she didn't see the other girl already there, all she saw was a black expanse of absolutely nothing, as she drifted peacefully in sweet oblivion.


	2. Chapter One

Notes: In no particular order: **iLoVeLoGaN**, thankies, and it will get more intense as I write because I'm funny like that. **Star-of-Chaos**, you just wait until you get about two chapters along, the trouble is only just starting. **A.Ceretta**, I know that the basic plotline has been done before, but I'm hoping that by adding my own twist to things, it will be interesting enough for people to like. What you should remember is that most of the other fics like this tend to keep things tame and happy-ish, whereas I don't bother. Thank you all for your reviews!

Chapter One

The nutrition bar tasted like cardboard and was as hard as rock and the protein drink tasted, and smelled, like mouldy fruit, but she ate it all anyway. It was her only meal for the day, and as she hadn't fought in four days, the possibility that she would be chosen tonight was strong, so she needed to eat. She, and a couple of others, had been given a special treat of a bruised apple with her meal, so she nibbled at it as she looked around at her cell.

The walls were brick, covered in some form of rock or clay. Whatever the coating was, it wasn't very hard, and she had been able to carve lines in it to keep track of the days using a small hair clip she'd had in her pocket. According to the scratches in the wall, she'd been in the cell for just over twenty seven days-she'd been too injured for the first few days, too confused and lost, to think clearly so the exact number was unknown to anyone except the guards and fight bosses.

Twenty seven days, and she'd fought eight times. From what she learned from the other fighters, the other prisoners, this was a record. The highest amount of fights someone had survived before her was six, and that had been over the span of seven weeks. According to them, the crowd liked her, they kept requesting to see the Rogue fight, so the fight bosses kept putting her in The Cage.

She sometimes thought about losing on purpose, about letting her opponent win. Surely it would be better to die than remain in this agonising hell. But in the end, she couldn't do that. Her pride, her honour, some spark of hope, kept her from fighting at anything but her best. So fight after fight, she came out the victor. She was given a night of luxury-a bath, a warm meal, some bandages and clean water for her injuries, maybe a suture kit if needed, and once, after a particularly good fight that had earned the fight bosses a lot of money, they gave her a thin mattress to sleep on.

And then, when the sun rose, the comforts she had been given would be taken away. She would be back to her pathetic excuse for food and the cold floor to sleep on. They didn't want their best fighter to die anywhere but The Cage, so she was allowed to keep her wounds bandaged, and if there was any hint of infection, she would be examined by the doctor and given the minimal care required.

She was luckier than the other fighters, if they developed an infection, they didn't get treatment, unless they worked for it. There were a limited amount of ways to earn a visit from the medic, and none of them were nice. She didn't know if she felt more pity for the girls, who were constantly subjected to crude talk, threats, and indecent acts, or for the boys, who always found it that much harder to swallow their pride and do what was necessary to earn medical treatment.

She was lucky that she was only subjected to the talking, and being forced to strip and dance for the guards so that they could masturbate as they watched her. It was demeaning, but not as traumatising as the ultimate act. For the first time in her life, she was truly thankful for her mutation.

Still, she had to wonder if she was such a vision of beauty any more. Thanks to her diet, her lean, lightly muscled body had become merely thin, not weak, she still exercised, but thin. She could count two ribs, and almost feel a third. Her hair, normally so thick and shiny, was now lank and slightly greasy, hanging around her face in straggly clumps. She didn't have a brush, and when she was allowed a bath, she was only given a small amount of cheap, generic shampoo, no conditioner. Her cheeks were sunken, her cheekbones, like her collarbones, too pronounced, almost as if they were ready to burst free of the skin covering them.

There was a scar bisecting her eyebrow, from the night she had been captured, and another above her mouth, a small scar that had only required a couple of butterfly stitches at the time. Other than that, she had been relatively lucky-a burn scar on her shoulder, a thin scar on her calf, and a long, thick scar across her stomach from where she had nearly been gutted were the only other imperfections. That scar was one of the oldest, from her very first fight, when she hadn't wanted to kill her opponent. She had remained on the defensive, trying to talk her way out of the situation. Eventually she killed the boy, but she mourned the death for days.

It wasn't until three fights later that she finally realised just what kind of life she had now, and from that day on, she tried to kill her opponent as quickly, and as painlessly as possible. Keep the fights short, that was her main goal when in The Cage, that and to stay alive.

Heavy booted footsteps made Rogue open her eyes, not really sure of when she had closed them. She watched, half hidden in the shadows, as the guard came into view. His name was Kendell, Steven Kendell. He was one of the more sadistic guards, and it was never nice to see him. When she saw him, it either meant a fight, or more often than not, a dance.

He stopped in front of her cell, leering at her from the other side of the bars. One meaty hand caressed the stun baton at his hip, the other gripped one of the hard iron bars. He glanced up, to the sides, and down, checking that the power containers were still active. The PCs were long bars that pulsed dark red light, and they lined all the walls of her cell, meaning that though her powers were still active inside the cell, they could not pass the bars to hurt anyone, or destroy the wall. She wasn't even sure if that would do any good, she suspected that they might be underground, though she never saw any windows to confirm her suspicions.

She waited silently, not moving, not blinking, and was surprised when he stepped back and continued walking. She frowned and quietly got to her feet, stalking to the bars. She pressed herself against the wall and listened. She heard him continue down past more cells, heard him stop once or twice only to move on, until he reached the end of the corridor. She heard him open the cell, but had counted and knew that it was empty. That meant there was a new fighter coming. She wondered who it was. She wondered how long they would last. She wondered if she would kill them.

She heard two more pairs of footsteps, accompanied by a soft, dragging sound, and looked to her right to watch the two other guards carry the new fighter to her cell. She couldn't see much of the girl, just a thick mane of black hair, a slender body, and some very expensive designer jeans. Hn, this girl wouldn't adjust well, Rogue could tell that immediately. The perfect dye-job on her hair, the perfectly exercised body, the expensive jeans, this one hadn't seen a tough day in her life.

Everyone waited for the guards to leave before they started to whisper, keeping their voices soft, so that only the people in the cells surrounding them could hear. Rogue didn't participate in the round of bets being placed, she didn't see the point. The other fighters placed bets on the newbies to keep themselves occupied, to give themselves something to think about, but for Rogue, that wasn't necessary. She had adapted to her life.

She was a fighter, a killer, a source of entertainment for a bunch of rich mutant-haters who probably went to dogfights and things like that. She knew it, and she'd accepted it. There wasn't anything that could change it.


	3. Chapter Two

Notes: **A.Ceretta**: The actual big battle won't be for about two/three chapters, but there is a fight in the next chapter, I'm working up to the really brutal battle because this is going to be a short fic. Rogue isn't as adjusted as she thinks, which will again get shown in a couple of chapters. Basically, I'm trying to set the dark theme of the fic first and detailing the situation. The other prisoners won't feature much in the fic, it's Rogue-centric and focuses on her experiences. And yes, the X-Men have figured out Rogue is missing, but I'm keeping it in her point of view. And thank you! **Sangofanatic**: Thank you! I've actually already written up to Chapter Six, so I will be posting fairly regularly, or I hope to, but I have this tendency to be a bit of a scatter-brain.

Chapter Two

The Cage was around fifty feet in diameter, sunken into the ground so that the crowd could watch from above. The top of the dome-shaped cage just came up to the railing on the lowest tier, meaning that if they wanted to, the crowd could touch the heavy metal bars, maybe even throw something through the holes. Power containers ran all around The Cage, meaning that none of the fighters could attack the crowd with their powers. The dirt floor was permanently stained with blood, bodily fluids, and thicker things. Fights were messy, and so were the deaths.

Rogue glared half-heartedly at the guards as they pushed her into the Cage. It wasn't as if she needed pushing, she was one of the few fighters who went peacefully into the Cage. Her opponent was forced into the Cage behind her. It was the new girl, the one who'd arrived yesterday. The fight bosses were usually better at giving her stronger opponents, this girl wouldn't last five minutes against the Rogue.

Raising an eyebrow, she turned to look up at Mark Adams, the big fight boss who organised and controlled this hell. She let the question show on her face, silently asking why he was giving her a newbie to kill. He just shrugged, and turned to talk to the lady standing beside him.

Rogue had to wonder just how the police were handling the mutant disappearances. No one really much cared if a couple of mutants vanished, but they always had around thirty fighters, with newbies coming in every other day or so; someone had to have noticed by now. But then the weapons were tossed into the Cage, and she forgot to wonder about what the police were doing.

The weapons were nothing special, knives, bats, crowbars, things like that, things that were easier to use for wounding rather than killing, and nothing that could be used against the crowd. Rogue was always thankful that they let her use weapons, because she didn't want to have to use her powers to kill.

The girl, Rogue thought her name was Terri, looked around wildly, pressing her back against the wall of the Cage, as far away from Rogue as possible. She looked terrified and confused, and Rogue didn't blame her. The other fighters had tried to explain what her life was going to be like now, but Rogue didn't think she'd understood, so she tried again.

"Kid, you gotta listen to me," she said quietly, her voice scratchy and hoarse from disuse. "You're going to have to fight me, kid, okay? Because if you don't, you're gonna die. Pick up a weapon, and attack me. Come on, kid, you don't want to know what they'll do to you if you don't fight."

The girl didn't listen to her, she just fell to her knees and began mumbling, pleading, begging. Rogue sighed, and picked up a knife from the floor. The least she could do was make the girl's death as quick and painless as possible, but if she didn't put on a good show, she wouldn't get her night of luxury, and she desperately wanted a bath.

She was barely a foot away when the girl suddenly rolled to her left, grabbing at a baseball bat. She staggered to her feet, bat held in front of her, and her wild gaze was filled with fear and determination. Rogue wasn't sure whether to feel glad that they would give the crowd a good show and thus, give her a night of luxury, or sad that the girl would fight and thus, force Rogue to hurt her. Still, she was glad that the girl would fight, meaning that she was safe from the guards' torture.

She never really felt anything when she fought, it was as if part of her brain just shut down. She moved, she thought, she reacted, but she didn't feel. She looked out from a stranger's eyes, someone not a part of her. She remembered everything, but couldn't really remember actually doing it. It was as if someone else had possessed her body and used it as their own, only letting her return when her opponent was dead.

She remembered grabbing the bat from the girl's hands and throwing it away, she remembered flipping the knife for a downward strike, she remembered feeling the cool steel slide into the girl's body, finding the heart and shredding it, she remembered the body jerking and going limp, falling to the ground and pulling her with it, and she remembered pulling the knife out of the body, but only when she was standing up, taking a step back from the body, did the stranger let her back into her body.

She blinked and looked down at the body, watching the blood well up and run down the girl's side in streamers of red, to pool on the dirty, stained ground. The crowd was cheering, and some coins were being thrown down at her, some hitting her with a short, sharp jab of pain, but she noticed none of it. The girl's face was tear-streaked, and more tears hung on her thick lashes like tiny diamonds, sparkling in the harsh light of the Cage. She looked innocent and fragile like a broken doll.

The door clanged open, and three guards walked in, guns and stun batons held at the ready. She looked at them with dead eyes, and waited to be lead out of The Cage. The pool of blood was slowly creeping towards her, but she made no move to step out of the way, watching as it puddled around her feet, gleaming dark crimson in the light.

------------------------

Twenty minutes later, she was reclining in a rusty, metal tub that was about a foot too small to be comfortable, submerged in lukewarm water. She stared up at the ceiling, not flinching away from the glaring light of the naked bulb. The girl's large, hazel eyes haunted her mind, softly accusing and harshly pleading. She wasn't sure why she couldn't forget the girl's eyes, she usually had no problem forgetting her victims, but there was something about this girl. The memory of her kept forcing its way out of the deep recesses of Rogue's mind.

Rogue sighed and stood up, water trickling down her thin body, and she grabbed the small, scratchy towel from the floor, wrapping it around herself before stepping out of the tub. She ran her hands through her hair, squeezing it to get some of the water out, and walked out of the bathroom.

The luxury room wasn't much, with a small table, chair, and mattress. There was a warm meal sitting on the table waiting for her, mashed potatoes, sausages, and mixed vegetables. There was a diet Coke beside the plate, and a glass of water. It looked like heaven, but Rogue wasn't interested in heaven tonight.

Still, she sat down and ate the meal, and drank the Coke and water, and fell down on the thin mattress, still wrapped in the towel. This was her reward, she thought, her reward for being a killer. She wondered why she had been given the mattress, it hadn't been a really good fight, it was over with in five minutes, she hadn't done anything to deserve the treat. But the thoughts drifted away as a numbing wave of sleep washed over her, brushing away all thought, all emotion, everything.


	4. Chapter Three

Notes: **coldqueen**: Well, I only drink diet Coke, so that tends to be what my characters drink as well. I think it tastes better than normal Coke. Thanks for reviewing!

Um… if you don't like character deaths, you might not want to read this chapter. I don't want to give away the surprise, but if you can't handle one of the X-Men dying, then turn away now.

Chapter Three

The fighters were anxious. There hadn't been a single fight in over a week, and it had been Christmas Eve on Friday. The fight bosses always cast a fight for any of the important days or holidays. They were working up to something, and whatever it was, the fighters knew that it wouldn't be good. Because of this knowledge, the atmosphere in the cells had changed dramatically.

The fighters had a peculiar relationship with each other, they offered comfort and friendship, helped ease the emotional and physical pain that someone was suffering if they were able, but they never got close. They all kept everyone at a distance, always knowing that they might have to fight, and they didn't want to have to kill someone they had grown attached to.

The suspense had caused this weird behaviour to increase, until the fighters didn't speak to each other anymore, didn't try and look at the people opposite them, didn't try to sneak touches whenever they could. They were all just waiting, breathlessly, for whatever disaster was coming.

Even Rogue was feeling the tension as she chewed on her nutrition bar. She'd never gone this long without something happening, be it a fight or a dance, and she hated the waiting. It was the calm before the storm, she knew that, and knowing that the storm was coming did nothing to soothe her. It was like being given an injection, if you just forgot about it until the last possible moment, then it was easier to bear. This endless waiting, with nothing but her thoughts to distract her, was torture.

The door banged open, and she heard several guards walk in. She tensed up against her will, pressing herself against the wall, trying to disappear into the shadows. There were six of them in total, and they stopped right in front of her cell. They were all smirking or grinning, and that was a Bad Sign. She glared at them, but it wasn't as strong as usual. There was a cold, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she shivered slightly.

The ginger-haired guard unlocked the door, and two others stepped inside, weapons held at the ready. For the first time since she'd first arrived, she thought about resisting them. She did not want to go into the Cage tonight, her instincts were screaming at her that it was a bad idea.

"Come on, little Roguey, be a good girl," the blonde guard said. She bit her lip, unsure, but eventually forced her muscles to relax. She stood up and walked out of the cell with her head bowed. She could feel the other fighters watching her as she walked past the cells, but she didn't raise her eyes to look at them.

The Cage slowly came into view, and she stepped inside to the sound of cheers and encouragement. She ignored them, stepping into the Cage and walking to the far side, before turning around to face the entrance. She frowned when no other mutant was shepherded inside.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat for you tonight," Mark Adams said, his voice amplified electronically until it boomed. "For over a week we have prepared for this fight, for it truly will be spectacular. Tonight, you will witness the devil girl from the South face off against one of her most trusted friends! Watch as the bonds of friendship are ripped apart by blood and tears! Cheer as they forget all ties that bind them together as they go one-on-one in a battle to the death!"

Her breath rushed out of her lungs as if she had been punched in the stomach. She stared up at Adams in disbelief, no longer hearing all the eager proclamations he was making to the raucous crowd.

Her mind was running in circles, trying to figure out who they might possibly have captured. Would she really have to kill a friend? She didn't want to believe it, didn't want to accept it. Her friends were her family, they were-had been-all she had, she couldn't just murder one of them. She didn't even want to fight them. She wouldn't do it.

But she knew that she had to. She either fought, or got tortured. She didn't know if her family were important enough to get tortured for. It was painful to admit that, she had thought she would do anything for her family, but in the harsh light of reality, she just didn't know if that was true.

What it really came down to was whether her life or her family was more important. She had thought that she would die for her family, but when put in the very real situation of her or them, she ultimately had to choose herself.

Rogue sighed, closing her eyes and whispering a quick prayer of regret. She heard the door to the Cage open, but didn't open her eyes. There was a grunt, followed by the sound of someone falling to their knees. She thought the grunt sounded female, but couldn't be sure. She heard the weapons being thrown into the Cage, but didn't hear the other person picking up anything.

A hiccuping sob reached her ears, and it was definitely female. That narrowed down the list to six people, none of whom she really wanted to kill. She sighed, realising that she had to open her eyes, had to fight, had to give the crowd what they wanted.

She sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time and slowly opened her eyes, looking down at the floor. She could see the person's knees and thighs, and instantly recognised the black trousers with the thin silver chain. Her breath caught in her throat, refusing to believe that they had actually managed to catch….

She whirled around to glare up at Adams. He was smirking and looking very satisfied with himself. She wanted to punch that smug grin off his face, and considered trying to climb up the walls, but knew that she would just get hurt.

"You fucking bastard," she growled. "I will not fight her and you can't fucking make me!"

Adams laughed. "Our prize fighter seems to have a touch of sentimentality left in her," he said to the lady next to him, before turning back to glare down at her. "You will fight her, Rogue, and you will do your best to kill her. Or I will make you sorely regret it."

Icy fear stabbed at her gut, but she didn't let it show. She turned away from him and realised that the time had come to make the ultimate decision, no more stalling: would she kill her friend?

She sighed yet again and her shoulders slumped, the anger and fear draining out of her body to puddle on the floor, leaving her… empty.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, finally looking at her friend's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Jean."


	5. Chapter Four

Notes:** To the two people who emailed me**: My hotmail account is currently throwing a hissy fit and won't let me send out anything, but I did get your emails and please don't think I'm ignoring you, I'd reply if I could! **Sangofanatic**: Thank you, I think… **coldqueen**: I never said that Jean would die, I said an X-Man would die. I could kill off Rogue, ya know, I'm just that evil. But Jean does go through a fair share of pain so I guess that's okay, right?

I had to post the end half of this chapter elsewhere as it contains explicit violence that I felt, was NC-17 and not R-rated, but don't worry, I mention when I cut off and where to find the rest.

Chapter Four

"Rogue, what's going on? What's happening? Who are these people? Where are we? Where have you been the past month? We've been so worried and the Professor couldn't find you with Cerebro! _What is going on?_"

"I'm sorry, Jean, I wish this didn't have to happen."

"Wish _what _didn't have to happen? Rogue, talk to me!"

"This is called the Cage, it's sort of like a dogfight using mutants. I got captured a month ago, and I've been fighting for my life ever since. The rules are pretty simple, and really cliché: two mutants enter, only one mutant leaves. We have to fight, Jean, until one of us is dead."

"What? Rogue, that's crazy, why are you doing this? I'm getting out of here right now."

Jean struggled to her feet and turned to face the door of, reaching out as if she would grab it. Rogue sighed and watched as she attempted futilely to use her powers on the door.

"Your powers won't work, Jean, not on the bars," she said. "We're trapped. If we don't fight-"

Jean didn't let her finish, instantly grabbing onto that faint hope. "We have a choice?" she asked, her eyes desperately pleading with Rogue to say yes.

"Not much of one. If we refuse to fight, we'll be given to the guards for 'fun'. For me, that just means torture, which trust me is bad enough. But you don't have the protection I have, your powers don't prevent people from touching you. You'll be gang-raped, Jean, as well as tortured. It's better to just fight."

Tears welled up in Jean's emerald green eyes, slowly sliding down her cheeks. She collapsed to her knees again, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

"I don't want to do this," she moaned, hiding her face in her hands. Rogue felt a surge of pity wash through her body, and looked down at the weapons scattered on the ground.

"I'll make it quick, Jean, but you have to decide if you want me to kill you, or if you're going to fight me."

Jean looked up at her, all hope draining from her eyes, leaving only the fear behind, and the uncertainty. "Rogue, I can't…"

"I'm truly sorry, Jean. If you want, I can kill you quick. If you don't want, you can fight me, and see if you can win, but if you don't fight me, you'll regret it for hours, maybe days. And if you do fight me, I promise to give you one helluva fight. All friendship ends if you decide to fight."

Jean shook her head. "I won't fight you, Rogue. I refuse. If you want to kill me, just do it quickly."

Rogue sighed and picked up a knife from the floor, gripping the black handle tightly. She took a step forward, but couldn't force herself to go any further. Her friend looked so defeated, kneeling on the floor with her tangled hair hiding her face. Her shoulders were still shaking, and Rogue knew that she was crying again.

She should kill her, save them both a world of pain, but… Jean had been so kind to her when they first met, it had been Jean's smile that finally convinced her to join the X-Men, she'd never seen someone so caring and sincere. She couldn't kill that smile. She knew she should, her mind was screaming at her to do it, but her heart… her heart was telling her not to.

She sighed again for what felt like the hundredth time, and let the knife slip from her fingers. She turned to look up at Adams, knowing that she was making a big mistake but also doing the right thing.

"We refuse to fight," she stated clearly, and saw rage cloud his blue eyes.

"Do not do this, Rogue."

"You can keep us in here for years, but we will not fight."

"_Guards!_"

A group of guard stormed into The Cage, and Rogue watched them come impassively. A small voice whispered that she had saved her friend, and doomed her at the same time, and she smiled at the irony of the entire situation. She wouldn't kill her friend, so instead condemned her to hours of torture and rape. That made a bucket load of sense.

****

This part is too explicit for , so I have posted it in my LJ, just go to www dot livejournal dot com slash users slash kalisama slash 10349.html#cutid1 (yes writing it that way is a pain, but ffnet eats any urls so it's pretty much the only way)


	6. Chapter Five

Notes: First off, I want to apologise for all the hassle with the last chapter. I know that the url didn't work and that's because it was the wrong one, ffnet deleted the underscore in my name. It's supposed to be kali (underscore) sama, not kalisama. If it still doesn't work and you still want to read the end half of the last chapter, there's a link to my journal in my profile (click on homepage) and just scroll down until you come to the entry for December 1st.

NCS WARNING!!! The torture in this chapter is brief, so I decided to post it here, but still, don't read if you're squeamish and/or don't want to see Jean get raped. Enjoy and review!

Chapter Five

Jean screamed, thrashing with all her might, but to no avail. The guards held her down on the cold stone floor with brutal grips, grinning as their friend slammed into her again and again, tearing at her sensitive inner tissues without caring. Sweat beaded both their skin, his from exertion and passion, hers from terror and despair. Her red hair was half-covering her face from where she had tossed her head around, and it was wet with both sweat and tears.

Rogue watched it all with a mixture of sorrow and fury, not able to drag her eyes away from the pitying and terrifying sight of her best friend getting raped. Her body still ached and burned with pain, which had prevented her from struggling against her chains and trying to help her friend.

"Stop it!" Jean screamed, her desperate voice echoing in the small room. "_I'll fight! I will! Stop it!"_

Jean screamed, her desperate voice echoing in the small room. " 

Rogue's heart plummeted. Something inside her, something that had somehow survived not only her torture, but the sight of her friend's, shattered and dissolved at the knowledge that she would either kill her friend or be killed by her.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she bowed her head as her breath hitched in her throat. She wanted to cry, she wanted to sob and scream and moan and whimper and she wanted to _not_ have to fight her friend. But in her heart, she knew that she had to, so she fought back the tears, fought back the pain, and raised her head again.

The guards had moved away from Jean, leaving her to tremble and cry, naked on the floor. Blood was splattered on her flesh from multiple cuts, and her skin was starting to darken in several places, ugly bruises already starting to form. Her mouth was smeared with blood from rough, biting kisses, and her fingernails were broken and bloody from where she had clawed at the stones beneath her, trying desperately to escape the pain.

She bore very little resemblance to the tall, confident young woman Rogue knew and she hated the guards so fiercely in that moment, hot rage running through her body. She hated them for turning her friend into someone so broken and defeated. It was then that she swore on her pride, on her honour, on her very soul, that she would kill them. She would kill them or she would die in the attempt.

--------

The Cage was exactly the same as it had been previously, but to Rogue's eyes, it had become even more vile and sinister, even more evil. Because this time, she would either kill her best friend, or be killed herself. Always before, she had never been close to any of her opponents. She had kept herself isolated and hidden away, so that when she fought, she knew nothing more about her opponent than what their strengths and weaknesses were, and what powers they had. No personal information, and so, no personal attachments.

But this time was different. This time, she knew her opponent intimately. She knew what shampoo Jean used, she knew what her favourite pair of jeans were, she knew how she liked her coffee, she knew how she hated physics, she knew what her favourite meal was, she knew how much she loved Scott. She knew everything, ever strength, every weakness, every minute detail. She sighed, watching her feet as she walked inside, listening with a small flinch of sorrow as Jean was quite literally thrown in behind her.

Two days had passed since their torture, and they were both healing as well as could be expected. They were still injured, still in pain, but the bosses had decreed that the fight would take place tonight, no matter what. Rogue's skin still ached from the branding irons, and her muscles throbbed whenever she tried to move. She was weak, and she knew it. She had never fought in such a weakened condition, and though her training helped her overcome many forms of pain, this pain was a completely new level of agony and she couldn't quite handle it. No meditation, no exercises, nothing let her escape it, and she knew that because of it, Jean stood a better chance of winning.

Jean's injuries were not as severe as Rogue's, she had suffered for a smaller amount of time because her torture had been after Rogue's. Cuts, bruises, a broken rib, a sprained ankle, a shoulder that had been dislocated, and, of course, the internal injuries sustained during her… assault. She had spent a few hours unconscious, something that Rogue had been grateful for, as it gave her a time to think as well.

She had thought a lot during that time, about her past, about her present, about her rather shaky future. She thought about her friendship with Jean, she thought about her other friends, she thought about her enemies, she thought about the people who didn't fall into either the 'friend' or 'foe' category, which was basically just Remy. She thought about her skills and talents, about her weaknesses and faults. And she thought about something she rarely did, she thought about her faith.

She'd never really believed in God, the thought that there was some mystical higher power guiding her actions and that she had a destiny and stuff was a bit too fantastical for her to really believe in. But sometimes, she did find herself thinking about what happened after death. The thought that everything just stopped was too depressing, but if that wasn't true, then what exactly did happen? Was it Heaven or Hell, was it reincarnation, was it the Summerlands, what exactly happened? She'd never actually decided what she believed, and what she wanted, to happen, but she did know that she wanted things to keep going, in one way or another. She always wanted a piece of herself, some part of her spirit, her essence, her soul, to continue on. Whether it was in another body or an animal or hell, even a tree, she didn't really care. The details weren't important to her, just the basic need for some piece of herself to live on forever. And that, she thought, was good enough.

The sound of the weapons being tossed into The Cage dragged Rogue out of her dreamlike thoughts and brought her crashing back into the brutal reality. Jean was kneeling down on the dirty floor, her hair hiding her face, but her shoulders weren't shaking, and Rogue couldn't hear any sobs. There was a rather large and very sharp knife next to her right knee, and Rogue watched as she slowly reached out to grasp it.

Rogue's heart gave one painful thud, and then settled down into a slow, steady rhythm. Biting her lip, she crouched down to pick up the nearest weapon, a solid and hefty fighting stick, much more powerful than Remy's bo staff but also slightly trickier to handle due to it's mass and weight. Rogue knew how to handle it, and she gave it an experimental twirl, getting used to the feel of it in her hands.

Grasping the fighting stick tightly in a two-handed grip, she shifted her footing so that she was in a more solid fighting stance, and waited for the fight to begin.


	7. Chapter Six

Notes: **Sangofanatic**: Thanks! I update as soon as I have something ready and actually remember, which unfortunately isn't all that often I'm afraid. Sorry! **XX-Goth-Gal**: Thank you! Jean was a bit of an idiot, I agree, but it's how I think she would've reacted. Unfortunately, the bosses are not compassionate at all, and will force Jean and Rogue to fight. As they do in this chapter. I hope you like it! **Arekanderu**: Thank you. **Kagome Rogue Shizoru**: No need to apologise, I know what it's like to have way too little time. Thanks for the compliments, I'm glad you like my fic. This chapter is the fight so one of the girls will be dead at the end, but I'm not saying who it'll be. This will probably be around ten chapters long, and whether it ends happily kinda depends on your definition of a happy ending, at least if I write it the way I want to.

I hate this chapter, I really do. I'd like to say how that the reason it's short and brief is that it reflects the ghastly nature of reality and that there is no dramatic music or slow-motion bits, but the truth is, I just couldn't write it any better. Sorry about that.

Chapter Six

Rogue was the first to move. She knew that Jean would never make the initial attack, knew that her friend would stay still and hope for a miracle. But Rogue was more realistic, she knew that there were no miracles, not for them, and she wanted this nightmare to be over as soon as possible. So, making sure she had a good grip on her weapon, she darted forward, pushing all thought and emotion out of her mind and heart.

Jean dived out of the way, rolling on the ground and coming up in a defensive crouch. She discarded the knife and instead picked up a long metal pipe.

"I want to set one rule," she said quietly, and Rogue frowned, waiting until she had a good opening for another attack. "We don't use our powers."

The rule surprised Rogue. Whilst Jean might just be interested in her own defence, it also limited her own telepathic powers. Rogue knew that she had enough power to crush anyone's mind, with the possible exception of Professor Xavier. That she would deliberately handicap herself was a shock. Then again, she might just not want to be sucked forever into Rogue's mind and body.

"Agreed," she murmured, and lunged forward again. Jean stayed in her crouch until the last second, before rolling onto her back, pipe coming up to block Rogue's fighting stick. Both of them strained against the other, pushing against the other weapon. They were nearly equal in strength, but Rogue's slight disadvantage was equalled by her superior position and better leverage.

Rogue quickly realised this for the stalemate it was and jumped backwards, twirling the fighting stick again just to impress the crowd. Jean flipped herself onto her feet and did some impressive moves with her pipe, apparently trying to impress the crowd as well.

"You haven't let your skills slip," Jean murmured, stalking around the Cage in an attempt to get behind Rogue, an attempt foiled by Rogue copying her movements, matching her step for step.

"If I had, I wouldn't still be here," the auburn-haired girl replied, just as quietly.

"True, still it's just like you to always be at your best." It was a weak attempt at trying to get under her skin, to remind her that Jean was one of the few people she would call a true friend. Rogue had already prepared herself for the fight, though, and let the comment wash over her, not letting it affect her.

Instead, she leapt forward, aiming her fighting stick at Jean's head. Jean blocked it, as Rogue had known she would, and before the redhead knew what was happening, she had used the other end of her stick to sweep Jean's feet out from under her.

Jean landed on her back with a groan, not having time to recover because Rogue was moving to hit her again, forcing her to roll away and come up in a battle crouch. It would be so much easier to simply use her powers, either crush Rogue's mind or throw her across the Cage, but she didn't want to do that, she wanted this fight to be as fair as possible, she wanted to give Rogue a chance at survival.

Jean moved forward, trying for a classic head strike. Rogue blocked, sweeping her stick down and out before bringing it up to try for a similar move that Jean had used.

The crowd was cheering and shouting things, ranging from encouragement to insults, but inside the Cage, it was silent. Neither girl said anything because there wasn't anything to say. They were no longer friends, they were enemies, and neither of them spoke to their enemies.

The low, hard clacking of their weapons meeting was steady and rapid, quick, sharp beats like a fast heartbeat. They moved around the Cage, not really watching where they were going, just always aware of where the weapons and walls were so that they didn't trip or get cornered. Neither of them were thinking, they couldn't afford to, they were just reacting, letting their bodies do the work whilst their brains shut down. They'd been fighting for years and their bodies knew what to do, knew how to defend and attack, how to react to certain moves. Their bodies saw traps and strategies and reacted to them without any input from their brains. Fighting was automatic, instinct, for them now.

Rogue quickly realised that they were almost evenly matched and that unless one of them got creative, their battle could last for hours. She didn't want it to last for hours, her muscles were already screaming at her to end the fight right fucking now or they were going to be so pissed at her. She thought desperately, trying to think up a strategy, a plan, that would work. Jean was smart, and with her telepathy it wasn't easy to trick her. She wasn't always aware that she was using her powers, but she often did, was often able to anticipate her enemy's moves in advance and figure out traps.

Rogue decided that a trap wouldn't work, so she'd just have to do something obvious and simple. She pushed Jean away and darted to the side, putting a foot of empty space between them. Before Jean could rush at her, she made her move; she threw her stick in the air. Jean glanced at it out of instinct, a bare flick of the eyes that didn't even last a second, but it was enough.

Rogue jumped forward, her body already doing the work before her mind could tell it to. She kicked Jean in the chest, hard, and the redhead's breath wooshed out of her lungs as she collapsed onto the ground. Rogue grabbed a knife that lay on the ground, already moving towards her friend. She moved in one fluid, continuous movement, never stopping or hesitating. She went down on one knee, flipping the knife in her hand for a better strike, and brought it down in her friend's chest, automatically finding the heart.

Jean gasped, a wet, gurgling kind of sound, back arching up off the ground, hands clawing at the knife buried in her breast. She stared straight up, not at Rogue, and her eyes shimmered with tears. Her body shuddered, and then collapsed back onto the ground, quiet, limp, lifeless.

Rogue jerked the knife out of Jean's chest, staring at the crimson blade for a moment before letting it fall from her hand. She bowed her head and closed her eyes against a suspicious wetness. Her hair slid forward, hiding her face from the cheering crowd. She could hear them screaming and shouting and clapping and stamping their feet, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.


	8. Chapter Seven

Notes: **Sangofanatic**: I actually can't say I really know how she'd react if it was Kitty, hence why she fought Jean. Glad you liked the chapter, sorry for the long wait for an update. **no escape**: Thanks! I will probably (but don't hold me to his) update before the beginning of next week. **XX-Goth-Gal**: Thankies! And I agree, pretty much anything is allowed if it adds to the angst, apart from a couple of Rules that are Non Breakable. **coldqueen**: Survival at any cost is pretty much the theme I try to keep in mind whilst writing this fic, and others like it. It's such a good motto, in my opinion.

Chapter Seven

Adams visited Rogue personally that night, about two hours after the fight had ended and all the guests had left. He praised her on such a good fight, on making him so much money, and informed her that she would be exempt from fighting until her wounds fully healed. He did not apologise, for the torture or the choice of her opponent, and she knew he wasn't sorry. She just looked at him with dead eyes until he left her alone in her small room, with only the low, dying light of a lamp to chase away the shadows that lurked in the corners.

A doctor came to see to her wounds, not saying any more than he had to and never looking her in the eyes. He tried to give her something for the pain, but she refused, explaining that she didn't like being drugged up. It seemed like hours before he finally left her alone, and she thought about locking the door before she remembered that there was no lock. So instead she just curled up on the real bed she had been allowed, with the thick, warm blanket pulled tight around her body, and tried very hard not to think

She thought, absently, that she should be crying, should be mourning the loss of her friend, should be angry at Adams for putting her into that situation, should be regretting the choice she had made to fight. She should've been a lot of things, but she wasn't. She truly was empty. she'd used that term a lot of times in her life, thought she had been empty on many occasions, especially during the past month, but she'd been wrong. There had always been some glimmer of emotion in her heart, some spark of life, it had just been buried so deeply she had thought it wasn't there.

But now, staring at the ceiling with her friend's blood on her hands, metaphorically speaking of course, she really was empty. She could have been killed in that instant, or been told that she was being set free, and she wouldn't have cared. It was all pointless now, because she'd finally broken herself. Over the past month, or even, if she was being truly honest with herself, over the past few years, she'd slowly been killing herself, tearing off pieces of her soul, sacrificing bits of her heart, and she had been fine. She had changed, become dark and reclusive, but she had been okay, she had coped, she had survived. But now… now she was truly broken. She would never recover from killing Jean, and a part of her didn't want to, because she shouldn't be able to. Killing your friend was not supposed to be something you could just brush aside.

The night passed slowly, filled with the dreadful silence of a graveyard. Usually, she could always hear some form of movement, normally that of the guards checking on the fighters, but now, there was nothing. just silence, heavy, thick, unbearable silence that pressed against her skin like a pillow, trying to smother her, trying to kill her….

Rogue shook her head and rolled onto her back. She had never dealt well with silence, not since she had absorbed Cody. That was why she always had her music on so loud, to chase away the silence, to block out the voices within her head. It was strange that she had come to regard that as a weird sort of comfort, that the voices still continued to shout at her from within her mind. After everything she'd been through, she still had all those personalities inside her. There was Kitty, trying to cheer her up and sulking when she failed miserably. Scott, telling her to be careful, stop taking so many risks when she fought. There was Evan, telling her to hurry up and kill that sucker quick.

But… something was wrong, someone was missing. It took her a moment to realise that one voice had finally left her, finally been silenced. Jean no longer talked to her.

Perhaps it was that she was so empty, but all she thought of when she realised that was: _It must mean that the real people are 'powering' the voices. If they're not alive, their voices aren't either. That would explain those periods of silence from various people, they must have been unconscious or otherwise impaired._

The more she thought about it, the more she realised she was right. During the thing with Xavier's son, Jean's voice had disappeared for a bit, and she matched up the time with the things Scott had told her and deduced that her friend had been unconscious.

Rogue thought about this new information about her powers until she was too tired to think anymore, and fell asleep.

---------------------------

Rogue woke immediately, her subconscious screaming at her that something was wrong. It only took her a second to realise that someone was in the room with her. She fought to keep her body relaxed, her breathing steady, focusing on not giving any indication that she was awake. Straining her ears, she deduced that the person was standing by the opposite wall, far enough away that unless they had a gun pointed at her, she had a good chance of fighting back.

With that thought in mind, she opened her eyes and sat up. Her body screamed at her, the wounds from her torture making themselves known, and she repressed the urge to wince and fold up in a little ball of pain. Apparently, she'd reached that delightful little stage where every minor movement hurts like hell. It wasn't surprising as quite a few of her wounds were on her back and every time she moved, she used the muscles in her back. It was not going to be fun for the next day or so.

It turned out to be Kendell that had walked into the room. He was leaning against the far wall with his arms folded across his chest. He was watching her and there was something in his eyes that Rogue really didn't like. She glared at him, wondering what in the hell he was doing there.

"We're all pretty stupefied, little Roguey," he said with a little smile. "The boss has said that not only are you to be excused from fighting until you're all better, but none of us are allowed to touch you. And that is a mighty shame, babe, we were really lookin' forward to having you back in your cell, on our turf. But, boss says you get to stay here."

"Well that is lovely ta know," Rogue said, her sarcasm making her accent a little thicker. "Now, would you kindly bugger off?"

Kendell's face darkened and he pushed away from the wall, hands clenching into fists. A vein started throbbing in his temple. "You watch yourself, babe. The second you get put back in your cell, you're ours again. Until then, you get to be free, but the moment that you get put back, we're gonna have so much fuckin' fun."

With that, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and Rogue sighed. She really shouldn't have been such a smart arse, it only lead to trouble, but she was always bitchy when she was hurt. She shook her head, letting out a little gasp of pain when her wounds protested at the movement, and very carefully lay back down on the bed.

The good thing about sleep was that it let her think about things a little better, gave her brain a chance to play catch up and to assess things. It was as if her brain played catch up while she was asleep, whilst simultaneously telling her heart to shut the hell up for a minute. The events of yesterday were playing out inside her mind like a movie with everything thrown into hyperfocus. She could look at it all and see every little detail, hear every sound. She could see, with perfect clarity, the exact moment that Jean died.

She wasn't exactly empty anymore, but it was as if her emotions were dulled, giving her only faint echoes of true, raw emotion. Sadness, regret, anger, it was all there, but faint, like a whisper half-heard in the night. It was a coping mechanism she had developed over the years, a technique that let her deal with some event slowly, easing her into things. She had never been more grateful for it.


	9. Chapter Eight

Notes: **XX-Goth-Gal**: All of your questions will be answered in this chapter, because this is, sadly, the beginning of the end. I'm glad you like this fic so much! **Sangofanatic**: Thanks! **Queen-morganalefay**: Thank you! I will definitely finish this fic, but due to real life issues, it might be a little while between updates. There'll only be a couple more chapters, though, so it shouldn't be too long before I'm writing final chapter.

This chapter is dedicated to Steve, the only person on the planet who can get away with calling me 'honeybunny', for reasons that he and I both know. Thanks so much, hun, for everything.

Chapter Eight

Two days after the fight, Rogue asked to be taken back to her cell. She couldn't rest in the luxury room, it was a constant, painful reminder of what she had done, and if she hoped to ever recover from her crime, then she had to get out of there. The guards were delighted, as she knew they would be, but it was a fair price for being out of that damn room.

Her cell was just as she remembered, small, dark, and very depressing. Home sweet home, she thought bitterly as she stepped inside and listened to them lock the door and activate the power containers. Sighing, she sat down in the corner and looked at the marks she'd made on the wall. She dug the hair clip out of her pocket and made two more lines, even though she really didn't know how many days she'd missed while she was unconscious back at the beginning of all this mess.

The only difference was that she now had a little call button that would fetch the doctor. Or at least, that was the intention. In truth, it probably wouldn't work because all the button did was flash a little light at the guard station which would alert the guard on duty that she wanted medical attention. She doubted that they would hurry to get the doctor.

She could hear the other fighters talking, whispering amongst themselves, and she heard her name mentioned numerous times. She couldn't blame them-her fight, and what had happened after it, was good news. First, who her opponent was, then their shared torture, then their eventual fight, her win, and then being given a pass on fights until she was healed… It was all something to talk about. A couple of the fighters tried to talk to her, ask her questions, but she just ignored them until they stopped trying.

The sound of booted footsteps made her tense and huddle in her corner. She listened closely, and there was a slight hesitation between one step and the other, a pause that went on a second longer than normal. Only one of the guards had that little pause in their walk-Kendell. He appeared at her cell a second after she realised who it was, and leered at her.

"We're all mighty glad that you've returned to our little playground, babe," he said, and she glared at him. "I've been dreaming of your milky white skin, your luscious little body. You know what's next, babe."

She did, she knew all too well what came next, but she remained still, hoping in vain that she was wrong, that this time, for some unknown reason would be different, that some miracle would save her from the humiliation and degradation she knew was to come.

Kendell didn't like her silence, her stillness, and he gave her a hard, cold look filled with hatred. His voice was deep and guttural, like the voice of some vicious dog that had learned to speak. "Strip. And make it good."

She sighed, and fought back a momentary urge to cry, before she stood up and moved reluctantly away from the shadows. She began to slowly move her hips, nodding her head slightly to the music only she could hear. Her hands placed themselves lightly on her hips, running lightly across her thighs, her fingertips brushing her groin before sliding downwards. She knew what Kendell liked, knew what specific actions excited him the most, and she always strove to have him gone as quickly as possible.

He leaned forward, one hand gripping the bars tightly and the other stroking himself through his black jeans. His eyes were hungry, burning with lust, not passion, because passion implies emotion; no, the look in his eyes was pure, raw lust. She hated the look in his eyes, it never failed to make her feel like she was a worthless piece of meat.

She ran her hands up her stomach, making sure that her fingertips caught on the hem of her shirt so that it was dragged up to briefly reveal the pale flesh of her body before it fell back into place. Surprisingly, Kendell preferred to be teased a lot, to be driven almost mad before he was allowed to finally glimpse her nude body. She actually liked it that way, because once she was fully naked, it never took more than a minute for him to climax and then he was gone, so she usually spent most of her time with some semblance of clothing.

A muffled explosion sounded, and it was close enough to make both Rogue and Kendell freeze. They looked at each other with that instant, startled companionship that lasts for only a second as they both though, What the hell? Then both of them snapped back into themselves, Kendell rushed off to see what was going on and Rogue just stood there trying to hear what was happening.

Mostly what she heard was the guards rushing about and shouting to each other, but she also heard a couple more explosions, as well as something that sounded like a wall being knocked down. What the hell was going on out there?

Her answer came when she heard a wolf-like howl, and a guard flew past her cell. She rushed forward, leaning against the bars, and smiled in relief as Logan ran up to her.

"Rogue! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Having a bloody awful time," she replied, grinning. Relief was like a drug, coursing through her veins, making her giddy and light-headed. "Now get me out of here, wouldya?"

He smiled and sliced through the bars as if they were nothing. The other fighters were all talking, demanding to know what was going on, but she ignored them for the moment so that she could explain to Logan.

"This is a bad place, I got captured a month or so ago, Jean got capture a few days ago, we got tortured, we fought, I killed her, I am so damn glad to see you I could kiss you! Who's here?"

One good thing about Logan was that he didn't waste anytime asking pointless questions. "The whole team. The Professor had a bit of trouble tracking down Jean, but then two days ago he got this huge hit from her, and then she vanished. We've spent the time since there getting here and preparing, you're about a hundred miles from Bayville."

Rogue thought for a second and then asked quietly, "Scott doesn't know that Jean's dead?"

"No. The Prof suspected, but didn't say anything to anyone but me."

"I'll tell him when we get to safety. Free the others, get them out of here."

She began to run away, but he grabbed her arm. "Wait, what are you gonna do?"

"I've got some revenge to exact," she said grimly, twisting free of his grip. She took the time to rob the dead guard by the door of his baton and gun. She gripped the gun tightly, letting the burning cold of anger and hatred swell up within her, dispelling the relief of being rescued until she was nearly numb. Only one thought existed in her mind now, and it was a thought with a face; a pretty face with green eyes and red hair.


	10. Chapter Nine

Notes: **Quinevere**: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like my fic. **IvyZoe**: Actually, I have no idea how Jean got caught, she just did. And yeah, there's gonna be a whole angsty scene between Rogue and Scott in a couple of chapters. **XX-Goth-Gal**: Teehee, thanks for the review! It's been about a month and a half and you're right, the guards are going to be really suffering, especially Adams. **Ashnan**: Sorry for the long wait, unfortunately these coming couple of chapters are the hardest to write. I'm glad you like my fic! **Queen-morganalefey**: Heehee, I understand being hyper. Thanks for the review and congrats on the new cd! **Sangofanatic**: Ooh, I hadn't thought about Logan's reaction… hm, must see how that turns out. Thanks for the idea and the review!

This chapter was so friggin' hard to write! I hate writing missions and shit, hence why I try to avoid doing so at all costs. So, yeah, if this chapter sucks, don't be afraid to tell me, I love getting con crit.

Chapter Nine

She could remember all their names now, when at the time she could only remember a couple. She knew their names, knew what they looked like, and knew that every single one of them would die at her hands before she left this godforsaken place.

She'd never actually explored the building, she was only ever allowed three places-her cell, the Cage, and the luxury room-and it was a direct route each time. She quickly confirmed that they were indeed underground and that the building was a maze of corridors. She passed a couple of elevators that would presumably lead up to the surface, but ignored them; she had a mission.

The first guard she came across was named Brennan, one of the more 'normal' of the guards, fairly young, but with a very good right-hook. He wasn't expecting to see her, running down the corridor with a mildly panicked expression, and she raised the baton, bringing it around to smash into his face. He slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor, unconscious with a broken jaw. She shot him in the head, the shot echoing in the empty corridor, and grabbed his gun, shoving it behind her back, not a perfect place but it would have to be sufficient.

She moved on, straining all her senses and pausing to listen cautiously before turning a corner. It was empty, and she moved along it cautiously, eyes darting around, searching out any traps. Her feet made no sound as she walked, her training making her move like a ghost. She had six targets, not including Adams. She knew that the chances of her killing all of them without getting hurt, or worse, was slim, but didn't care.

She passed a door, but paused when she heard a scuffling noise from inside. She listened closely and ascertained that there was only one person in there, trying very hard to be quiet and actually doing quite a good job.

She took a step back and studied the door. It was fairly poor quality, thin wood and easily breakable. She stared at it, focusing all her attention on a spot just next to the handle, until it was all she could see. Then she kicked it sharply, her booted foot connecting with a low thump. The lock splintered and the door swung back on its hinges, revealing the room inside.

She was already scanning the room with her eyes and her gun, seeking out her target. It turned out to be the sandy-haired guard who had branded her. Her shot was perfect, the bullet hitting him just above his Adam's apple, and he fell to the floor, blood pooling around his neck. She walked swiftly into the room, looking down at the body. She could still feel the pain across her back and thighs, and could remember with sick clarity the words decorating her skin.

She'd killed him too quickly, she thought. He should have suffered, should have been tormented like she had. She was sad that she had granted him such a quick, merciful death. But there wasn't any other option, she rationalised. Making them suffer was a luxury she wanted to indulge in, the necessity was that they all died, and if she wasted time hurting them, the risk of her getting caught and killed increased dramatically.

Her body was thrumming with nerves, her muscles tense and aching already from the stress she was exerting on her wounded body, but her mind was clear, for the first time in days she was thinking in a clear and concise manner, very detached from her emotions. She knew that later she would get emotional, that when she was safe and warm she would allow herself to feel what she had gone through, but she couldn't afford that now. She was too close to the end, so very close, to give in to any weakness in any form and sometimes, emotions were a weakness.

She killed two guards together as they rushed past her, looking at their limp bodies to ascertain whether they were on her list of targets. They weren't but in her opinion, the more people involved in this macabre situation she killed, the better. She knelt down to steal the clip from one of the guard's gun and shoved it into her pocket, just in case she needed the extra ammo.

She couldn't hear the fighting anymore, but didn't know whether it was because the fighting had ceased or she had simply moved too far away. It wasn't really important, she thought, either way, she still had a mission to do. The only other thing she cared about was the other prisoners, she wanted them safe and far away from this horrible place, which was odd because she'd never really cared about them before. Still, she knew that Logan was taking care of it, so she pushed the thought of her mind.

The soft sound of someone's voice reached her ears and she paused, listening carefully. It was male, not surprising, and was just one word repeated over and over like a mantra. It was the work of three point five seconds to identify the voice and a grim smile curled her lips. Gripping the gun tightly in her hand, she rested against the wall for a minute to think up a plan. She could just charge into the room and shoot, but that would be too merciful and he didn't deserve mercy.

Taking a deep breath, Rogue inched forward and kicked the door open, gun up and aiming even as she was walking forward. He had jumped up when she entered, hands coming up to show that he was unarmed. She spared a moment to think about what a fucking dickhead he was before she pulled the trigger. Her bullet created a gleaming red hole in the palm of his hand and he collapsed to his knees with a pitiful wail.

Rogue shook her head and shot him again, this time in the thigh, being careful to avoid the major arteries and muscles. She didn't want him to die too soon. He wailed again, tears leaking from his eyes and he stared up at her with a mixture of horror, desperation and fear.

"You're a fucking weakling, Kendell," she hissed, glaring down at him. "I spent all this time at your mercy and never once did I break. Two fucking bullets and you're cryin' and moanin' like a little baby. You fucking pig!"

She backhanded him, hard, and he sprawled onto the ground, whimpering and shaking. He looked up at her and opened his mouth to speak, but a quick kick to the stomach prevented that.

"You think it was funny, Kendell?" she asked, bringing her booted foot down hard on his side. She heard the sick sound of a rib cracking and felt a spark of triumph within her. "Did you think it was a right ol' laugh to humiliate and degrade me like that? To turn those girls into nameless, faceless, soulless _whores_? Well guess what? I'm not fuckin' laughing!"

Another kick to the stomach, hard enough that he coughed up a little bit of blood and bile. She looked down at him for a moment, trying to calm the raging storm of hatred and violence that was brewing within her. Her hands itched with the need to punch and pull and strangle and _hurt _him. She'd spent all this time of suffering his violence, dancing for his sick pleasure, forcing herself to not react, to not let it affect her, and now she was the one in control. She could do anything to him and she _really _wanted to.

She took another deep breath and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Kendell had struggled to his knees and she gave him another casual yet powerful kick before kneeling down in front of him, the gun held loosely in her hand but also in front of his face. She quirked an eyebrow when she saw how his eyes fixed on it, wide with fear. What a fucking coward.

"You wanna know what you're biggest mistakes was?" she asked quietly. "It was hurting my friend. Because _no one _hurts my friends without answering to me."

She pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead and looked into his terrified, pale blue eyes. The loud explosion of the gun didn't even make her flinch, nor did the blood that splattered onto her cheek. She watched with grim satisfaction as the light disappeared from his eyes and his body went limp, the limpness that only comes with death. Then she stood up and left, mentally scratching one name of her list of victims.


	11. Chapter Ten

Notes: **Sangofanatic**: Thanks! Sorry that the updates have been so slow, writer's block has been pestering me a lot. **XX-Goth-Gal**: In this chapter, there's just one left on her hit list-guess who it is. And I think you're gonna be a bit surprised at what happens after this. **Marie**: Thanks for the lovely review! I'm always critical of my work and mission scenes are not my favourite thing. And to answer your question, she walked down the corridor to another room, sorry for not making that clearer. **Jade**: Thank you so much! Your review was fantastic and really made my day, I'm glad you like this fic so much. **Blair**: Unfortunately, romance wouldn't fit in this fic easily and I decided when I wrote this to not include any. It's dark and bloody and I intend to keep it that way. Sorry. **Quinevere**: Thanks! **Tanya**: Thank you so much! I always take it as a compliment when people ask for a quick update and feel bad when I can't manage to write anything. Glad you like! **Furine Panpasu Kitsuchi**: Thanks! I love reviews like yours so thank you so much. **Unearthlyangel89**: Thank you! I plan on having much fun with the X-Men's reaction to it all, and how Rogue deals with their reactions.

Again, this chapter was incredibly difficult to write and is a bit on the short side, thanks in part to random fits of writer's block. But we're nearing the end now, just two-four chapters to go and if you ever have any con crit, don't be afraid, I don't bite, lol, and I'm always interested in improving my writing.

Chapter Ten

Twenty minutes later and she only had one target left. Her left shoulder was aching, which was not surprising because there was a bullet buried somewhere in her flesh. She'd tied a temporary tourniquet around it but knew that she needed to get some proper medical attention soon. It was a distant thought, though, just an automatic note sent to her consciousness by her ever-practical brain.

After five minutes of aimless wandering, Rogue walked into an empty room that appeared to have been an office of some sort and let herself relax for a moment, taking note of her sweat-soaked skin, her panting breath and her pounding heart. She slumped to the floor, resting her head against the wall, and just let herself breath for a little while, feeling the adrenaline that still rushed through her veins. She was so close, just one more death and she would finally be free of this place. So close…

But, as usually happened in her life, things weren't that easy. She had one target left, but no idea how to find him. She didn't even know if he was still in the building, it would just be like that slimy rat to tuck tail and run when things got bad. She should've kept one of the guards alive, made him tell her when Adams was. But she'd been so caught up in the killing, the bloodlust, that she hadn't stopped to think about that.

Rogue sighed, closing her eyes and relaxing her grip on the gun. Her fingers were hurting, her whole hand starting to cramp up from holding the gun so long, and after a moment's hesitation she put it gently on the floor in front of her, wiggling her fingers and clenching and un-clenching her fist.

She needed a plan. For once, her usual strategy of just charging in head-first wouldn't work, mainly because she didn't know which direction to charge in. If she knew where Adams was, then she'd just grab her gun, check her ammo, and run after him, but he could be anywhere. She shouldn't have spent so much time killing the guards. Yes, they'd been important people to kill, she'd fulfilled her promise of killing everyone who touched her and Jean, but Adams was a lot more important. He was the big fish, her personal, private personification of evil and wickedness. When he was dead, when his warm blood coated her hands, she would finally be able to rest. If he escaped, if he fled before she could kill him, he would always haunt her, she could feel it. It was like she was locking away this horrid experience, burying it deep in her mind, pushing it out of her heart, and Adams' death was the final brick, the last shovel of dirt, the snap of the lock.

Rogue shook her head to clear her thoughts, berating herself for letting her mind wander, she had to remain focused. Just a little while longer, then she could rest. She kept repeating that in her head like a mantra as she forced herself to stand up. She had to think calmly, logically. There was always a way, always a solution, she just had to find it.

She looked around and noticed for the first time that there was a computer on the desk in the corner. Well, that should help. Smiling wryly, she walked over and sat down, turning the computer on and waiting for it to boot up. She wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for and she spent a few minutes searching folders. She found a list of names that she assumed were people who paid to see the fights and saved it to disk, thinking that maybe the Professor would like to see it. She found another list of names that had a date and a power listed next to it. She recognised a couple and knew that it was a list of the dead mutants. She saved that, too, as well as some bank account information. There was a lot of money in various accounts and she intended to see that it was put to good use.

After nearly ten minutes of searching, Rogue found more than she'd hoped for-a map of the building, including a secret tunnel that appeared to lead away from the building. Bingo. Rogue studied the map, noting the various entrances to the tunnel, and figured out that the nearest one was just a few doors down from where she was. Picking up her gun, she checked the ammo and then set off again, walking swiftly down the hall until she found the right office. She strode to the back wall, and felt around near the bottom until she found the small little depression. Pushing it as hard as she could, she heard a small click and a section of the wall swung inward to reveal a set of stairs that lead further downwards.

It was dim, lit only by a few lights set into the walls, so she moved slowly, clinging to the wall and straining to hear any movement that wasn't her own. By the time she stepped onto even ground, she knew that she was nearly half a mile beneath the surface, well beyond help if she should need it, not that she actually cared about that.

She knew from the map which direction to go in and began walking at a brisk pace. She had no idea how far ahead Adams was and if he'd actually reached the end of the tunnel, he could be anywhere in the town and she'd never find him. That thought spurred her on, made her ignore the needles of pain that shot through her body, until she was nearly running.

Logical thought fled, her brain descending into the most primitive of states that was often ignored by the average person. It was the state of the hunter, the killer, where nothing mattered but catching her prey and killing it. Even the Cage hadn't forced her to this level of primal thought, not quite, though it was similar. It was strange and she knew that later, when she could afford to, she would think about it, study the way she had thought and acted when this primal mood had settled over her. But for now, she merely used it, twisted it to her advantage, let it rule her body and trusted that it would help her survive.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Notes: **Marie**: Thanks so much for the review, I'm thrilled you like this fic :-) **Queen-morganalefey**: Hope it wasn't too hard a wait for this chapter, and thanks so much! **Unearthlyangel89**: Thank you! And ya know, I never actually thought about Adams' motives but he's not strictly a mutant hater, just an all-around bad guy who's using mutants to make money. I think that somehow makes him more evil, at least to me. **Jade**: Thank you! I couldn't be that mean to Rogue and let him escape, as you'll see in this chapter. **XX-Goth-Gal**: Err… it was a lucky guess on her part? And sneakiness on his? I'm really not sure, I told you I was bad at mission things, lol. As for changes to Rogue… well, you get hints at the end of this chapter but for a real answer, you'll have to wait, but there is an answer, promise. **Sangofanatic**: Thanks! I actually wrote this chapter pretty quickly in two, fairly quick sessions, hence the quick update. Not sure when I'll update next though.

So, I actually like this chapter. I'm a little iffy on how I characterised Adams, not sure if he bears too much resemblance to Kendell, but other than that, I think this is a pretty decent chapter and makes up for the lameness of the last one.

Chapter Eleven

She had known that Adams was evil. She'd known that he was manipulative, sadistic and greedy. She'd known that he was easily angered and controlling of every aspect in his life. What she hadn't known was that he was a weak, pathetic little man that was easily scared. She found that out after just a few minutes of entering the tunnel, when she managed to locate a soft, whimpering sound. It was distinctly male and accompanied by the heavy, uneven tread of someone trying to run and failing.

Shaking her head in disgust, Rogue quickened her pace, tightening her grip on the gun in her hand until her knuckles were white and the sharp edges dug into her palm had enough to break the skin. She focused on that pain, studying the feeling as it mingled with the various other pains until it was just a wash of feeling through her body. It was his fault, all of the pains and aches and bruises and cuts were, in way or another, his fault. He had hurt her, and now, she was going to hurt him. Simple as that.

There was a slight curve in the tunnel ahead of her and she paused before rounding it, preparing herself for what she knew was about to happen. Then she slipped around the bend and looked at the man who was solely responsible for every ounce of pain she'd suffered in the past month. She was surprisingly calm about seeing him, staring at his back as he stumbled and staggered along the tunnel, whimpering and snivelling like the pathetic weasel he was. She was angry, yes, and she really wanted to see his blood splattered against the ground, but it was a distant feeling, held back by the practical logic of the hunter. She couldn't afford for her emotions to have any sway over her and this situation, couldn't afford to let her anger overwhelm her. She had a mission, a job, and she wouldn't, couldn't, fail.

Her first kick was perfectly aimed, her foot connecting with the back of his knee with enough force to dislocate it. He screamed and crumpled to the ground, rolling over onto his back so that he could see his attacker and when he did, he let out another shrill cry.

Rogue didn't waste any time, landing three more kicks in quick succession, one to his already injured knee, crushing the bones under her boot, and two to his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs and making him gag on bile and spit. He rolled over and struggled to get to his feet. Rogue let him, watching impassionedly, the hunter urging her to kill him now, to finish this whole thing. But the real her, the being she thought had been driven out, temporarily, by the hunter, held that desire back, wanting more satisfaction, wanting to see this pathetic excuse for a man suffer.

Adams had managed to get to his feet, supporting himself almost entirely on his left foot, one hand pressed against the wall in an effort to steady his swaying body. He had his back to Rogue and when he managed to turn around, hopping and shuffling, she caught a glimpse of silver. Her mind immediately recognised the half-glimpsed object and she dived to the side, the bullet whistling past her with a sudden explosion of sound that echoed in the tunnel.

He was surprisingly competent with the gun, tracking her movement and firing another shot that had her flipping out of the way, brushing aside the great wave of pain that the move caused. She landed in a crouch, aiming her own gun and squeezing the trigger in one movement, her bullet hitting his bicep. He howled again and she used the momentary distraction to knock the gun out of his hand, seeing it spin away and not caring where it landed, just so long as it was away from Adams' hand. She followed up with a hard, bone-breaking punch to his jaw, delighting in the howl of pain that quickly turned into a whimper when he realised that his jaw was broken.

"You're a fucking weakling," she hissed, the first sounds she had made since entering the tunnel, not realising that she was echoing the words she'd said to Kendell, using the same, venomous tone. "You're a pathetic, sad, miserable little excuse for a man and I can't believe I spent all this time being afraid of you!"

She punched him again, not so hard this time, and sent him sprawling to the ground, blood and spit dribbling down his chin. She looked down at him, evaluating the damage she had inflicted and trying to decide if it was enough. It wasn't, but then, it never really would be. No matter what she did, no matter how much pain and suffering she inflicted on him, it would never compare to the torture he had put her through, both physical and mental. Nothing would compare to the feeling of losing herself, her mind, her fucking soul. Nothing would erase the damage he had done, give her back the precious few shards of innocence she'd managed to cling to over the years. And when she realised that, she realised that this was all pointless. So she shot him, her bullet taking him in the throat and bringing forth a small river of crimson liquid.

Rogue looked at the limp, broken, bloody body of her former capture and tried to feel something, joy, triumph, relief, _anything_. She couldn't.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and felt a deep, painful shudder run through her body, letting the hunter dissolve into nothing as her true self took control of her thought processes again. Then she turned and walked back down the tunnel, ignoring the heavy, throbbing pain that was slowly taking over her body now that she had completed her mission. By the time she reached the stairs, she was shuffling and having to steady herself with a hand to the wall.

She wondered, as she slowly climbed up the stairs, what the others would say when they saw her. What would Kitty think of her thin, malnourished body? What would Ororo think of the mind-numbing weariness that was evident in the way she walked? What would the Professor think when he glimpsed the aching nothingness in her heart? What would Scott think when she told him Jean was dead?

That thought made her pause, realising that her mission wasn't quite over yet. The prisoners were free, the guards dead, Adams dead, but Jean… Jean was dead, too, and Scott didn't know that yet. She had to tell him.

Shaking her head, she continued climbing until she entered the office. She was close to the exit, she knew that from the map, and she began walking there automatically, trying to figure out just what she was going to say, something that was made harder by the painful need for sleep and a lot of medication. She still hadn't thought of anything when she stepped out of the elevator and realised that freedom, real, true, breath-the-free-air freedom was just a few feet away. That thought pushed all other thoughts to the side and she stumbled forward, tripping over her own feet in her desire to get outside.

Thick, grey clouds hid the sky from her view, shrouding the moon and stars, but she didn't care because the sky wasn't important. She took a deep breath, dragging the clean, crisp winter air into her lungs, and collapsed to her knees. Free, she was free.

She didn't hear the surprised exclamations, nor the worried murmurs that followed, so when hands suddenly closed around her shoulders, old instincts kicked in and she jerked herself free, jumping up and back, aiming her gun at her assailant before she realised who it was. She stared in disbelief at Kitty, who was tense with shock and fear. Absently, Rogue lowered the gun and took a cautious step forward, not daring to believe, her mind insisting that this was some cruel trick, a wicked hallucination cooked up by her morbid imagination.

"R-Rogue?"

No one else had that voice, that little Valley girl lilt. It was a completely unique sound and utterly unfakeable. Only one person had that sound. Her heart thudded painfully within her chest and she let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.

"Oh dear God, Kitty." Dropping to her knees again, she didn't tense or jerk away when Kitty tentatively put her hands on her shoulders. She stared at her hands and slowly let the gun clatter to the ground. She was free, she was safe. She repeated it in her head like a mantra, but it was too much, after the night's events, for her mind to handle, so she did the only thing she really could do-she fainted.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Notes: **Quing**: Thank you so much for all your reviews! It makes me super happy that you like this fic. **Midnightrose**: Thank you! I'm sorry about the long wait, I thought I'd posted this chapter last week but then looked and saw that I hadn't. Ooops! **Jade**: Thank you! Unfortunately, I'm gonna really focus on Scott's reaction and just sort of shove everyone else to the side. I will write a couple of bits with Logan and Kitty, though. **Madjackmaxwell**: Thank you! Also, that wasn't the end. Couple more chapters to go till the end. **Queen-morganalefay**: You're right, he did deserve so much more, but it can't always be about people getting what they deserve. And as for whether Rogue's alright… well, you'll see about that in these last three chapters. **XX-Goth-Gal**: Thank you! I'm so glad that everyone seems to think Adams got off easy, it sorta lets me know that I did good in creating his character and making him evil. **Unearthlyangel89**: Thanks! I'm glad you think I got their reactions right, I was a bit worried about that ending scene because it was kinda important to my mind, being all significant that it's all over. But then, I'm weird and find random little things important, lol. **Quinevere**: Thanks! Next chapter's already half-written, so it should be along soon. **Sangofanatic**: Thank you! And I really wanna say something in response to your comments but it would be spoilerific for how the fic ends I'm afraid.

Not too sure about this chapter, it seems a little rushed and disjointed to me. Also, just two more chapters to go folks, and then this fic is done, and I have the final chapter already written out.

Chapter Twelve

Rogue was tired of their questions. She was in the library, curled up at one end of the sofa, whilst her friends drilled her again and again about what had happened. She wanted, now that she actually had the option, to be heavily drugged and preferably unconscious. She wanted to lie in a soft, warm bed and think of absolutely nothing. She wanted to not have to answer questions that she really couldn't give a toss about. She wanted to not have to look at Scott's blank face, wondering what she could say to him. She knew that she had to talk to him soon, that the Professor would eventually release the grip he had on his mind and let him 'wake up' so to speak.

Sighing, Rogue uncurled herself, letting a grimace of pain wash over her expression as her various wounds reminded her of their presence. Ororo stopped in mid-question to look at her curiously, and blinked at the scowl she received.

"I need to talk to Scott, and in private," she said, looking only at the Professor. "I have to tell him," she added quietly.

For a moment, silence reigned, until the Professor nodded in a very resigned manner. "Very well. I'll be waiting outside. Be careful."

There were arguments, naturally, but with a few comments for Xavier and, surprisingly, Logan, everyone filled out. Rogue waited, anxiously, until awareness spread across Scott's face and he looked around in confusion.

"What-Rogue? What's going on? How did we get here? Where's Jean? Rogue?"

Rogue licked her lips and stared at her gloved hands, clenching them into fists. She opened her mouth to speak but found that the words died on her lips. Her eyes burned with unexpected tears and she blinked them back, refusing to show such weakness.

"I was kidnapped by a sadistic fuck named Adams," she began, her voice hoarse with repressed emotion. She refused to look at him, staring at her hands as if they were all that existed in the world. It was easier to speak that way, easier to explain the gruesome details if she pretended she was speaking to herself.

"He was kidnapping mutants and making them fight each other for the enjoyment of other sadistic fucks. He made quite a bit of money that way, and I was his best fighter. I… killed, other mutants, to save my own skin, and I… I didn't care. If it meant I lived, I'd kill anyone. Until they captured Jean. I couldn't… couldn't fight her, and she couldn't fight me. So the guards took us and… and they tortured us. I was first, and it was brutal. It hurt so fucking much, but I never gave in, never asked for it to stop. But then… then they moved to Jean. She was strong, she lasted a lot longer than most people would, but… when it came to the… the rape… she couldn't take it. She agreed to fight, and so I had no choice. We were put back in the Cage and… we fought. She fought good, it was the hardest fight I've had, and it was so close. But I've had more practise, I've had to work hard on my skills, and in the end… I won. I killed her. I'm sorry."

Rogue finally looked up, letting her eyes sweep over Scott's face, and she wondered how he would react, where his chaotic emotions would lead him. She suspected that she was already knew, and her suspicions were proved correct when rage clouded his expression.

"You killed her?" he shouted, his voice seeming impossibly loud after his tense silence. "You fucking killed her? Jesus Christ, Rogue, she was your friend! How could you fucking kill her?"

There was more, he ranted and raved, pacing the room and gesturing wildly with his hands, but she didn't listen, letting it wash through her unheard because there was no point, she knew what he was saying and had no interest in actually hearing it.

"Was I supposed to let her kill me?" she asked when he finally took a breath, her voice icy and sharp.

"She wouldn't have! Fuck, Rogue, Jean could never hurt anyone!"

Rogue took a deep breath and refused to lose her temper, working hard at keeping her voice quiet and controlled. "You have no idea what Jean was capable of, Scott. She wasn't Ms. Perfect and Innocent, not once they got their hands on her. She was going to kill me, I just killed her first."

"And who gave you that fucking right? God, Rogue, you shouldn't have even fought her in the first place! You should have waited, should have stalled them, until we found you! We were looking for you, we've been searching ever since you first disappeared, we would have found you! You didn't have to fucking kill her!"

Before she quite knew what she was doing, Rogue was pulling at her dirty, torn clothes, throwing them on to the floor so that she could pull at the bandages covering her body. She was vaguely aware that Scott had stopped shouting and was just staring at her, but that wasn't important, nothing was important apart from the seething storm of fury within her.

"Take a good fucking look, Scott!" she hissed, glaring at him as she held her arms out to display her half-naked body. "This is what I fucking suffered for _her_! I could have stopped it at any fucking time but I didn't because she was my friend and I didn't want to kill her! Don't you dare try to lecture me on what I should have done because I did everything I fucking could. You have no idea what I've been through so shut the fuck up before I do something that I might not regret tomorrow."

She stormed out of the library, ignoring Xavier, Logan and Kitty. She didn't have a destination in mind, she was too focused on forcing the anger back, on controlling her breathing and trying to think calm, rational thoughts.

She wasn't really surprised when she ended up in Jean's room, it was just the sort of thing her morbid brain would do. She sat down on the bed, clutching the covers in her fists, and wished that she could replay the last five minutes, wished that she could go back and play that scene again. She shouldn't have blown up at Scott like that, though it had served to shut him up. But still, it had been the wrong thing to do, he had loved Jean and he had every right to be angry.

Sighing, Rogue let herself lie down, trying not to think about who's bed she was on. She gazed across the room at the dresser, looking at the various pictures and notes that covered the edges of the mirror. Tears fell silently from her eyes and she brushed them away angrily, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling.

She wondered what would happen in the morning, when the harsh light of day flooded the dark facts of her experiences. She wondered how everyone would react once they'd got past the shock. She wondered how they would treat her, when all was said and done. She wondered if she cared.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Notes: **Queen-morganalefay**: Thank you so much for the lovely review! It means so much that I can get such an emotional response. And don't worry, Rogue gets a little concern/understanding in this chapter. **Unearthlyangel89**: Thank you! I always worry about my speeches, I'm never sure if they're too melodramatic, so it's nice to know that I got it right. **no escape**: Yeah, Scott was a bit insensitive, wasn't he? And here ya go, a super-speedy update, aren't I nice? **XX-Goth-Gal**: I love it when I get emotional responses like that! And Scott doesn't make a second appearance at all, I'm afraid, so you won't get any more reasons to hate him. **Sangofanatic**: I really wanna tell you what happens, but I don't wanna spoil it for you. I will say that these final two chapters focus more on Rogue so while I do mention Rogue talking about her experiences and how the others react, I don't go into detail. **Marie**: I'm sorry for not answering you in the previous chapter, your review didn't show up. Anyway, I'm glad that you like this fic! And because I just can't resist puppy eyes, here's a quick update for ya.

This is where I really abuse ellipses, but I didn't like the way the dialogue read without them, so… shrug. Oh, and there's a link to the end half of Chapter Four in my profile if anyone still hasn't read it.

Chapter Thirteen

It was the feeling of someone else in the room that woke her up. For a second, as sleep still clung to her, she thought she was back with Adams, that she was about to be abused and tormented again, but then the soft feel of the bed reached her senses and she remembered what had happened. Opening her eyes, she sat up to find Logan standing by the window.

"We were all worried about you, kid," he said roughly without turning around. "Didn't know what had happened, where you'd gone, what was going on… Didn't think it'd be this bad, though. What they did to you…. Jesus, Stripes, I can't believe you survived it. I knew you were tough but it would have broken anyone. And don't worry about what happened with Jean. Scott'll understand, eventually. Now come on, I'm supposed to escort you to the medical bay."

Yes, that sounded wonderful, and she stood up with only a faint grimace of pain. Logan noticed it, she knew he did by the slight narrowing of his eyes, but he didn't comment on it. They walked in silence for a little bit, but Rogue knew that it wouldn't last; she could feel the questions pressing against her mind, waiting to spill from her lips. She didn't want to ask it, was afraid of the answer and wanted to remain in blissful ignorance, but she'd never been very good at keeping silent.

"Do you…" She stopped before she could actually speak the question, but it was too late anyway. Logan was looking at her, waiting for her to finish, and she sighed, crossing her arms in front of her stomach and feeling pain bite its way through her body from the touch. She took an odd form of comfort from it, telling herself that if she had survived that, she could survive Logan's answer. Hopefully.

"Do you… blame me? For what I… For Jean?"

Logan echoed her earlier sigh and was silent for a couple of seconds. Rogue kicked herself for asking, shouting at her stupid lack of self-control.

"No," Logan said eventually, and she just about collapsed with relief. "I've been in that situation, Stripes. Not exactly, but similar enough, and… I woulda done the same thing. Kill or be killed… it's the most basic, primal of choices we can make as humans and… you made the right one."

"So… If I'd let Jean win, that would've been the wrong choice?"

"No."

Rogue nodded and thought about that until they reached the medical bay. Hank, the Professor and Kitty were waiting. She hesitated in the doorway, not sure why she was so unwilling to enter, and something in her expression made Kitty flinch.

"Rogue?" she asked uncertainly, taking a small step forward. "Rogue, we… we want to know what happened. You're, um… body…. the words… you haven't told us much."

Rogue scowled, not making any attempt to hide the signs of her torture. "What is there to say?" she asked in a tone that was barely above a growl. "I wouldn't fight Jean, they tortured us, and burned me with a fucking branding iron. That pretty much sums up most of it and gives you a good idea of what my life's been like for the past month. Only now it's over, and I can rest, so all I want is for some fucking pills so that I don't have to worry about nightmares. I also want Hank to examine and tend my wounds because frankly, I don't trust the doc that Adams employed and I really don't want to get an infection. I also don't want to be asked more questions. They can wait. Clear?"

She noticed that the Professor was watching her with sharp, narrowed eyes but quickly averted her gaze. She didn't want him to see the dark pain in her eyes, or get a glimpse into her equally dark mind. Her eyes landed on Kitty again, who was staring at her in shock and… something else. It was close to pity, but had an element of something else that Rogue didn't recognise. Something inside her cracked just a little at the sight because it was the personification of losing innocence, of realising that the world was not all sunshine and bubblegum and that people couldn't stay innocent and young forever, not if they wanted to survive.

Rogue sighed and walked inside the room so that she could sit down on the bed. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I don't mean to be so harsh, but I've been through a lot. I just want a little time to sort things out before I get the third degree. Please?"

"She deserves it, Chuck," Logan added from where he was leaning in the doorway.

Xavier let out a heavy breath and nodded his acquiescence. "Alright. Hank, I'll want a full report."

"Right, Professor. Now, everyone out."

"Um-"

Everyone turned to look at her and she cursed herself for speaking, but decided that she really had to know, so she gathered her courage and spoke. "Did you find Jean's body?"

For a second, no one spoke, but then Logan released a heavy breath and shook his head. "No, we looked but, no dice."

"They must've burnt it," Rogue murmured to herself. "I'd always wondered what they did with the corpses. I mean, just from the fights while I was there, there had to have been dozens of fights, and they had to have been going for a good few months beforehand so…." She looked up and saw that they were all looking at her with expressions of shock and horror, even Logan, but to a lesser degree. She realised, belatedly, that she had to be more careful about what she said, that she couldn't just voice her thoughts anymore. Hank was the first to recover and ushered everyone out, ignoring Kitty's quiet, worried questions.

He waited until the doors had closed before pulling on some gloves and beginning the examination, mostly keeping silent except to ask her a few, standard questions, does this hurt, follow my finger, when were these inflicted… Rogue answered automatically, not paying attention to how he poked and prodded and shifted and moved her.

It was over remarkably quickly, her wounds quickly washed and redressed, and then Hank was handing her a couple of small white pills and a little cup of water. She popped the pills dry, ignoring the water, and climbed under the thin sheets, staring at the ceiling until Hank left.

(0)

Once again, she woke to the feeling of someone watching her. She swallowed back a sigh and opened her eyes. Kitty was sitting on the bed next to hers, watching her with a mixed expression of thoughtfulness and worry. Rogue remained silent, watching her calmly, waiting for whatever was about to happen.

"Did you really kill mutants?" the younger girl asked suddenly, and Rogue blinked before sitting up, pushing her hair out of her eyes and trying to figure out what to say.

She couldn't think of anything, so she just said, "Yes."

Kitty was silent for a moment, frowning and biting her lower lip, and then she looked up at Rogue and said, "I don't understand that. I don't know how you could…"

"I didn't have a choice," Rogue stated flatly. "I didn't want to die. I'm not a matyr."

Kitty nodded and silence fell again. Rogue wondered what else Kitty wanted to ask, or say, and when she would go away.

"I'm sorry," Kitty said in a voice that was barely above a murmur, and Rogue frowned.

"For what?"

"For… not finding you sooner. For letting you go through that. For whatever it is that Scott said to you. I'm really sorry, Rogue."

Despite herself, Rogue found herself smiling a little and it made Kitty smile back at her. "It's alright. I don't blame you, never did, never will."

Kitty grinned and opened her mouth to say something else when Hank walked in.

"Alright, Kitty, out. Rogue, how are you feeling today?"

Rogue nodded vaguely at Kitty as the younger girl left, and then thought about Hank's question, evaluating both her body and her mind. "A bit numb, kinda disorientated, but pretty good, considering."

"Good. Now, we've got some nicely coloured pills here for you and a couple of injections. Sorry."

"After what I've been through, I can handle some jabs."

Hank grimaced, but didn't comment. Rogue endured another bout of poking and prodding, swallowing the pills handed to her and not flinching when Hank gave her a couple of injections.

"Do you feel up to talking yet?" he asked when it was over, taking off his gloves and tossing them in the bin. Rogue wanted to say no, not yet, please don't make me talk about it all, but she knew that she couldn't put it off forever, so she just nodded silently. Hank walked with her to the library, where Xavier, Kitty, Logan and Ororo were all waiting, ready to hear her gruesome tale.


	15. Chapter FourteenThe End

She was tired. No, that was an understatement, she was mind-numbingly exhausted. Her body ached and not just from the healing wounds but also from finally being able to relax after over a month of constant tension. Her mind was blank, her thoughts sluggish and fuzzy, only half realised before they faded away like wisps of smoke. She lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling of the medical bay and letting the quiet music of her favourite instrumental CD wash through her consciousness.

It was over. After all those long, painful, shadow-filled days, after all the pain and sorrow, all the struggles and fights, it was finally, blessedly over. Adams was dead, Kendell was dead, ninety per cent of the guards were dead and every guard who'd tortured her and Jean was dead, the prisoners were free and getting long-needed medical attention and counselling… it was over.

She couldn't comprehend the fact, couldn't understand how her world could suddenly be normal again. It was too sudden, too unexpected, there had been no dramatic buildup or cryptic clues. One minute, she was being forced to dance for the sadistic satisfaction of a now-dead bastard and the next, she was lying in a comfy, warm bed at the Xavier Institute medical bay. She didn't have to fight for her survival any more, didn't have to worry about getting killed, didn't have to hide in the corners, hoping and praying that the guards would chose someone else to torment tonight. It didn't make any sense.

Rogue sighed and rolled onto her side, wincing as small flickers of pain fought their way through the medications Hank had given her to remind her that she was still healing.

How could she explain it? She knew that they all wanted to ask even more questions, wanted to know, to understand, what had happened to her, but she didn't know how to put it into words. How could she hope to explain the terrifying horror of being kidnapped and forced to fight, and kill, other mutants while people watched and cheered? How could she describe the sickening feel of humiliation as she danced and stripped for Kendell and the others? How could she tell them that she wasn't the person they knew, that she had been changed by her experiences?

Because in the end, that's what it came down to, she'd been changed. Before, she'd been cynical and jaded and withdrawn, but she had still been innocent, in some respects. Now she wasn't. And what made it worse was that she didn't belong here, in this place, any more. She didn't belong in the bright, sunshiny world that the others lived in. She couldn't share in their happiness and laughter, couldn't join in with their fun and games. She belonged in the shadows, with tears and blood and pain.

She wasn't sure why she thought of it, or even when. It seemed like the thought had always been there, lurking in the back of her mind, waiting for the right moment, because once she did think it, it seemed terribly simple and so very right.

It would hurt them, and she knew that they probably wouldn't understand, but she couldn't bring herself to care about that. It was the only answer, and she accepted it gracefully.

Forcing her drug-heavy body to move, she sat up and found a pad of paper and a pen on the cabinet next to the bed. It took more effort than she would have liked to scribble down a brief message and she let the pen fall to the floor when she was done, taking a moment to try and gain some control over her body.

Walking proved to be a bit of a difficulty, but she found that if she took it slow and put one hand on the wall for balance, she could walk in a relatively straight line. The corridor was thankfully empty and after a few steps she remembered that Hank had said something about them 'talking about the situation'. Good, that meant there was less chance of running into someone.

She managed to get outside without being spotted and she stood for a moment, catching her breath and letting the sun soak into her skin. It felt strange, to be standing in the sunlight with a soft breeze brushing against her skin. Just another little reminder that she didn't belong in this happy world anymore.

It was harder to walk outside, the ground was uneven and there were no walls to lean against when she got tired. She nearly fell into the pool when a wave of dizziness washed through her unexpectedly, and she tripped more times than she could count. She ended up crawling the last few feet, feeling the stones and pebbles dig into her skin but not actually hurting, thanks to the painkillers.

When she reached the edge of the cliff, she forced herself to stand and look down at the jagged rocks that stood amongst the waves. What she thought, she wasn't sure, but it caused a single tear to roll down her cheek.

She glanced back over her shoulder at the Institute, wishing for a moment that she could say goodbye to them in person, that they could understand and wish her well on this final step of her journey. She wanted to give Kitty one of the hugs that the Valley girl was always pushing for. She wanted to tell Scott that she was sorry, that she wished things had turned out differently. She wanted to thank Logan for understanding, better than anyone else, what she had been through, emotionally and mentally. She wanted to thank the Professor for everything he'd done, for giving her a family and a place to call home.

Rogue sighed and looked away from the Institute, staring at her bare feet as she shuffled forward so that her toes were just poking out over the edge. For a second, she found herself unable to move, too scared to go forward and unable to go back, but then the second passed and she jumped.

The wind rushed past her, whipping at her hair and making her breath catch in her throat. It was like she was flying, soaring above the world that she could no longer live in. She forced her eyes open and found the murky depths of the ocean rushing up to meet her, the shadows waiting to swallow her whole. She smiled.

_I'm sorry. I don't belong here anymore. You are my family and I love you. Goodbye. _


End file.
